Gee you lot can nag. Here I was thinking I could run this blog how I wanted, but apparently not, so here, by popular demand, is a story from the Braeside days:
Alas, I have been blooded!
It happened like this……………
Knocking off early one afternoon, I went down to the river for a fish. After five minutes I had a nice Murray Cod for dinner and decided to have one more cast. Well the next cast resulted in my lure becoming stuck in a tree across the river. Not too perturbed, I walked back to the house, handed the cod over to the chef, grabbed Pep, jumped in the ute and headed across the river.
I parked on top of a bluff and made my way down the steep slope. As it was five o’clock-ish, and therefore cooler, Pep went looking for something to chase. I heard him barking and wasn’t too concerned until I heard him staying in one spot – which usually means something has stood up to him. I became really worried when I heard “grunt, grunt, grunt”, thought “Oh shit he’s got a pig” and bolted off in his direction.
Through the trees, towards me, came these black shapes – grunting and oinking as they thrashed past, but still Pep was barking in the same spot. When I finally got to him I saw he had baled up a small pig – about twice his size.
Then began a weird game. The pig saw me and took off. Pep went after the pig and I went after the dog. Pep would bale up the pig again, I would catch up to the barking and grunting, pig would see me and take off again, dog would chase pig, I would chase dog and so it went. Running through the bush with prickles and thorns all over me, I had another thought – “piggy for tea” and without breaking stride I picked up a rock about the size of two clenched fists.
Oinking pig being chased by barking dog, being chased by yelling girl – so the game continued – and then it changed. Pig ran under a log and got himself cornered by dog, girl came upon the scene – and in a moment of bloodlust, pitched the rock at the pigs head – and killed it stone dead. Pep and I looked at each other in amazement (my aim was never that good on a hockey field) and I had another thought – “No-one is ever going to believe this”.
After retrieving the fishing lure, I dragged both the pig and the dog (dog was attached to pig) up the hill, threw the pig in the back of the ute, wiped off the sweat, spat in the dirt and drove home on near dark. Brian was at first speechless and then mighty impressed. So much so that he was on the phone to his Dad before Pep had time to bury his prize – the pigs head!
So all of you blokes who think pig-hunting involves scarred pit-bulls and high calibre rifles should think again. All you really need is a miniature fox terrier and a rock.
Mmmmm – I think there is way too much testosterone in the water up here.